


He's Not Here

by micaelllla



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micaelllla/pseuds/micaelllla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire died.</p><p>No one ever realized how much they loved him before now.</p><p>And it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Not Here

They didn't find out right away.

When neither Grantaire nor Jehan came to the meeting without a message from either, worry settled over the group like an unwelcome blanket. Even Enjolras felt the nagging in his stomach, and he paused and slowed in his speech in places at random.

The call came in the middle of the meeting, a sharp ringing from Courfeyrac's phone. When he hung up, he looked at his friends, then said, "We ned to go to the hospital. Now."

When they arrived at the hospital, Jehan was curled in a fetal position in the corner of the waiting room, staring at nothing, tears streaming down his face. He had to tell them that Grantaire had been hit by a car, that they had called Jehan because he was listed as next-of-kin, that they had rushed him into surgery. When Combeferre asked when he would be out of surgery, Jehan broke into a sob and said, "They're done." 

Everyone started asking questions at the same time, when can they see him, is he okay, what room is he in. He looked at his friends with a blank stare that seared them all.

"He's in the morgue."

The sounds of anguish that emitted from this family was terrifying, and the nurses that were near enough to hear it stopped and felt their hearts break for these young people.

The funeral was held a week later.

They were tired.

Jehan and Eponine were high, and, to everyone's surprise, Enjolras was drunk. The church was filled with people from several places that Grantaire frequented - drunks, boxers, dancers, athletes. There were even teachers from the college. It made them cry harder because they knew that Grantaire had thought that no one cared for him.

When they tried to continue with what they had done before, his absence was overpowering.

Bahorel went to the gym with his gloves and waited for Grantaire to stroll up to him with a smirk, carrying his own pair of gloves. When he realized that Grantaire wasn't coming, and wouldn't come again, his gut wrenched, and he left the gym.

When Feuilly was assigned a charcoal project, he went to the art store and found himself overwhelmed by the different types of charcoal. He pulled out his phone to ask Grantaire for his recommendation, as he usually did, and dialed the number. Before he hit call, he caught himself and quietly put his phone back in his pocket. He took a deep breath and looked at the charcoals again. He reached up and grabbed a pack make by a brand he remembered Grantaire mentioning, then grabbed a second pack. People would later comment on seeing an unopened back of art supplies layed on a grave, next to several buquets.

When Eponine found herself in her apartment on a Friday night with a stack of unwatched movies, she felt the stinging in her heart and nausea swept over her. She sat down on the seemingly empty couch and silently played a movie, hugging herself, and leaving space for another person beside her.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were cooking dinner in their large apartment. Bossuet was setting the table, Joly was finishing the food, and Musichetta was pulling out a glass of champagne. She set the bottle down on the table and went to the glass cabinet to get glasses. She pulled  three out, then paused as she spotted the glass hanging in the back. She set the glasses she was holding down and pulled out the glass, gently holding it in her hands. It was one of those painted glasses, given as a joke. It was painted to look like wine was spilling down the stem and had a swirly R painted on one side. It had been left there after Joly's birthday dinner just a few weeks before. She cradled the glass like a precious jewel and walked over to Joly and Bossuet in the dining area. "Hey, did you get-" Bossuet started before seeing the glass in her hands. The room went silent.

Courfeyrac stumbled into a bar, just wanting a beer. He sat down at the bar and the girl working set down her rag and greeted him. "Hey, Courf, long time, no see," she grinned. "Amy," he drawled cheerfully, only slightly slurring. "Where have you been hiding your beautiful face?" he asked. "Went home for a couple of weeks; my sister got married," she explained. "Haven't seen Grantaire since I got back, though? Where's he been? He promished he would listen to me gush," she asked curiously. Courfeyrac stiffened, sucked in a breath. He didn't say anything for a while, and Amy's eyebrows creased in worry. "Amy," she started quietly. "He, uh, there this- he-" he stopped and took a long drink. "He got hit by a car, and he didn't make it," he continued slowly, quietly. He finished his drink and laid his head on the bar. Amy stood in shock for a moment, then walked out from behind the bar, saying, "Oh, Courfeyrac." She wrapped her arms around him and  he held onto her tightly. No one at the bar protested the policy breach as they cried in each others arms.

Marius and Cosette were buying curtains. They had moved in togehter a couple of months before and were finally buying much needed curtains. Thye had come to a problem, though.  Both Marius and Cosette were bad at complimentary colors. They sighed, lookin at their options, secretly knowing that what they would pick wouldn't mix well with the yellow walls they were trying to work with. Marius sighed again and started, "Maybe Grantaire could-" he stopped when he realized what he had said. Cosette grabbed a package with a picture of black curtains with green decals. She held them in her hands and said, "He'd like these." There was no more discussion, and they ignored the strange looks given to them when they paid for the curtains with great care and sad looks.

Jehan didn't clean Grantaire's room. Sometimes, he would lay in his bed and le tthe characteristic smells of paint and alcohol envelope him. He would sit and let his emotions run wild, always letting them spill out of him through his ink pen. He filled eleven notebooks within the first week, stacking them on the coffe table like a pile of magazines. When Jehan's poetry professor paid a housecall, concerned for her brightest and darkest student, she made teas for him and let him talk to her in a way that he couldn't with his friends. She ran a bath for him with bath salts and bubbles, and took care of him like a mother with a toddler. She left him int he bath with Puccini and began to clean the small messes left around by the poet. Out of curiousity, she sat down with a notebook, knowing Jehan wouldn't mind. The work presented in here was a level of which Jehan had never reached before, and she found herself enraptured. When she left later that evening after tucking the young poet in bed, the books weren't sitting on the table anymore, but were in a bag on route to a publisher that was good friends with the poetry professor.

Combeferre noticed the change in his friends rather than in himself. He felt the absence of laughter and snide remarks, the poetic ramblings of drunk that was lost on many of them because of their historical content and absurd analogies. Combeferre had never become close to Grantaire like the others had, preferring to observe the interactions rather than participate. He and Grantaire had loved each other from a distance, like siblings with contrasting interests. What no one else knew, however, was that Combeferre and Grantaire had met alone, away from the prying eyes of their comrades. Combeferre, who was extremely smart, had come into trouble in his classics class, but had chosen not to admit his troubles to his sometimes too loving family, trying to avoid the "new-puppy syndrome" that Joly had picked up from some movie. Grantaire, unfortunately, had stumbled upon Combeferre in a state, on the floor of the classics section of the library, frustratedly tossing a book aside. This is what Combeferre felt. The loss of a friend who had kept his secret from the people they were closest to simply because he had been asked to and then assist  him in an indirect way that was unnoticed to Combeferre until he wasn't there anymore. "Accidental" meetings in the library that led to long discussions centered on whatever topic Combeferre was reading about, studying in a way that only Grantaire can do.

Enjolras felt the loss in a way that he would never have guessed. When he found out, he had felt this devastation that sat on  his chest and made it hard to breath. When he spoke at the meetings, he felt the pauses where he was expecting Grantaire to interrupt with a contradicting idea. His speeched became more and more idealistic, less realistic and approachable, with more fallible ideas than ever before. He found that he allowed himself to indulge in a glass of wine more often than not and somhow couldn't find it it himself to be bothered by it. He threw himself into their group, letting his classes take the fall. When Enjolras didn't turn in an essay, Combeferre and Courfeyrac stepped in. When Enjolras finally put a reason behind his reaction to Grantaire's death, he fell into a deeper hole. When Combeferre walked in on him having a breakdown in his kitchen, Enjolras admitted to realizing that he had loved Grantaire and was too much of a tool to have realized it before. Combeferre could only attempt to console his friend as everything broke around him. Enjolras moved a month later. They supported him, but he had become drawn within himself. When he stopped calling back, some of them drove the five hours to where he had moved. When they discovered tht he was gone, they worried and tried to find him. When they found nothing, their hearts broke again.


End file.
